All for a Woman
by margtastic
Summary: HG/SS Truthfully, most of his future plans included a shallow grave. In his more Firewhiskey-induced delusions, he sometimes saw himself quietly escaping England to take up a new identity in parts unknown. Alas, it was not to be. Blast that Hermoine Granger. Blast anti-venom. Blast know-it-alls on a mission.


A/N: Songfic for The Airborne Toxic Event - All for a Woman

I wrote this a few years ago when I was consuming fanfiction at a breakneck pace...it has a happy ending planned but I've never gotten around to adding that...It does work as a stand alone piece!

Please review!

Disclaimer: Not mine so no money for me...

 _All these grateful looks_

 _All these grateful eyes_

Severus Snape. Equal parts not-to-be-trusted Death Eater and must-be-thanked Wizarding World Savior. This ball was nauseating. If one more stuff-shirt Ministry lackey or bury-their-head-in-the-sand non-participant looked at him with thankful doe eyes, he wouldn't be held accountable for his actions.

Bloody Potter. Boy-Who-Lived-Forevermore. Typical Gryffindor has to passionately reveal Severus Snape's whole life to the wizarding world at large. This was not how it was supposed to be. A grateful public was not in Severus Snape's plans for the future.

Truthfully, most of his future plans included a shallow grave. In his more Firewhiskey-induced delusions, he sometimes saw himself quietly escaping England to take up a new identity in parts unknown.

Alas, it was not to be. Blast that Hermoine Granger. Blast anti-venom. Blast know-it-alls on a mission.

 _All these furious looks_

 _and these fretful sighs_

There were some small consolations. Despite Potter's evidence to the contrary, not all the attendants of this Ministry spectacular seemed to appreciate the presence of Dumbledore's murderer and member of the Dark Lord's elite.

That felt right. Safe. Expected. Much better than the sycophants. He had respect for those that stood by their guns. Even if it still twisted in his gut each time a whispered remark floated to his ever-active spy's ear.

 _Promising everything_

 _To everyone_

 _We'll be back soon_

 _You're my favorite one_

It was a night of jubilation. Everywhere he looked there were the relieved smiles of a populace that had just dismantled a decades long reign of terror. Tonight promises would be made. _And broken by noon tomorrow._ He smirked internally. Couples shared secret smiles that quickly escalated to furious encounters in any dark niche they could find.

Not that he cared. Quite on the contrary. Part of him reveled in the spectacle the fools were making of themselves. He certainly wasn't looking at anyone in particular. He wasn't watching to make sure that a certain vision in silk-er bushy haired someone- wasn't seen disappearing on the arm of any man (lucky sod) in attendance.

If it wasn't for this blasted rain, then he could suffer through this evening in relative discomfort and then slip away. As it was, he had been attempting to ward off doubts and dreams his "miraculous" recovery had given way to.

That night had been filled with rain as well. _That night._ His heart still raced in the glorious painful remembrance of it all. That night had been unexpected. It didn't necessarily follow that it was unappreciated. It was most certainly unwelcome. Initially. It was hard not to get wrapped up in those eyes.

Eyes that saw a Severus Snape that didn't- _couldn't_ -exist.

It just wasn't possible.

He had many whom he tried to blame for his current feelings. The favorite, and most frequent, recipient of his ire was himself. Followed in no particular order by:

The Order itself. Blast them for receiving Dumbledore's memories and accepting him back into the fold.

Potter. Blast him for never properly learning Occlumency and being able to see the Dark Lord's unbelievably useful weakness.

And of course, the owner of the eyes in question. Blast her for discovering a potion that would use the Dark Lord's weakness against him, convincing Severus Snape to gather ingredients and brew said potion, and blast her for inviting herself on said potions expedition to the other side of the world.

Then blast himself for reluctantly agreeing to her company. Not that she had been a bother or a bloody-Gryffindor-nuisance. In all honesty, Hermoine Granger had been some of the best company he had ever experienced. Even before _that night._

She had been slowly growing on him. After his readmission to the Order, he had made several trips to the "Horcrux-Hunters" in the forest. Granger, being the most intelligent and least annoying, had been his main contact. After delivering provisions, he would talk with her about strategy and their plans.

When this was done, if they had time, he would discuss other subjects with her. She was bloody brilliant. He had known she was intelligent, but he had only ever acknowledged it in a thorn-in-my-flesh WHY ON EARTH did you add an extra 10 inches to your essay type way. These meetings let him see a new side of her. A side where the only distinguishable Gryffindor trait was her passion as she boldly defended her thoughts and opinions (well informed opinions, mind you) on any and all subjects presented.

It was during these meetings that their fateful endeavor was planned. Everything was decided from where Potter and Weasley would camp to what excuses would be made to the Carrows for the Headmaster's absence. In an effort the keep the students safe (relatively), he wanted the trip to be as brief as possible. She had spent countless hours pouring over the details of the trip so they could quickly and efficiently retrieve and return.

He left the school before sunrise, apparated to their current forest dwelling to retrieve his companion, and they had port-keyed (albeit illegally) to their destination by mid-morning. Well it was mid-morning by his time. He was still unsure of the exact time in this gods-forsaken country. Not that it mattered really. This search would be over before he had to worry about impending darkness or any such nonsense.

They began their search and continued for the next _six hours._ Eventually they stopped to eat some provisions he'd brought (a spy is always prepared, after all). As they ate, she gave voice to the doubts he himself had been experiencing. Namely that the woefully out-of-date potions book that she had used for reference might be wrong about the location they needed. He agreed with her statement.

They spent some time discussing their predicament. They brainstormed and shared ideas about how growth patterns might have changed since the books long-gone publish date. It was during this stimulating discussion that the heavens opened and thoroughly doused the travelers.

Through much struggling and bits of precipitation-hindered speech, it was decided that he would transfigure a shelter where they could wait out the storm.

A short while later a thoroughly soaked Potions Master and ex-student were situated in a (very small) make-shift tent. Her teeth chattered as she conjured a blue-bell flame to warm themselves. They stood close together and let feeling and warmth slowly return to their semi-blue toes, fingers, and lips.

It was the thought of blue lips and chattering teeth that prompted him to glimpse at his comrade's aforementioned attributes. Her lips were slightly parted and he saw a tear slide past them and drip off her chin. He was startled.

Initially, he thought he might be mistaken and he had really just seen a remnant of the downpour. On closer inspection, however, it was clear that the drop in question had come from a set of red-rimmed eyes. Her visage also contained a sniffling nose and he now saw that her lips were trembling from more than just the cold.

He was extremely discomfited. In a normal situation, he would find a way to extract himself from this vicinity of the crying individual. Obviously that was not going to be an option. He shuffled awkwardly on his feet and focused intently on the flame. After a particularly loud sniff, it was obvious that he could no longer feign ignorance of the girl's distress.

"Are you injured, Miss Granger?"

She jerked up suddenly and stared at him. "What? I'm-no-I. I'm fine," she stuttered out.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Ah yes. I remember now. Sniffling and tears are usually indicative of overall well-being. How obtuse of me."

She seemed shamed by this. Her head fell and her eyes seemed glued to her mud-covered trainers.

This change in posture was accompanied by several ragged breaths.

"The _sniffling_ ," and here she paused to raise her eyes in a semi-defiant glare, "has more to do with the general lack of success this mission has currently meted out."

He raised one eyebrow in silent question. She took this as an encouragement to continue.

" _So_ much is riding on this. It's our one brilliant idea. Our Plan A and there _is_ no B. If this fails, we go back to cowering and damage control. _You_ of all people should understand why I'm so bloody upset by this sudden roadblock."

She turned her eyes to the flame again.

"I can't imagine that you enjoy running Hogwarts in this fashion. Endless days trying to stop the torture of mere children. Blocking and softening curses. Trying to find ways to safely send information to the Order. Finding ways to apparate discreetly to our hide-outs to bring us supplies."

She was breathing heavily now. She no longer looked cold. Her tears had dried and her face was flushed in righteous indignation.

"Tell me, Professor," she lifted her head to look him dead in the eye, "do you wake up every day already wishing it was over? Or wishing that you didn't wake up at all?"

Her voice lost some of its volume as she turned to him more fully and stepped slightly closer. Her flame went out as she lost concentration. He could see her entire face now. Her wild eyes, full of resignation tempered with fear. Worry lines etched her face. Lines that should never grace such a young person. He had never considered the pressure that the brains of the Golden Trio might be inflicting upon herself.

"But you _must_ wake up. Because you're not _you._ You're what they need you to be."

The accuracy of her statement hit him solidly in the gut. He pondered her words. After all, who was Severus Snape? Well who did you need him to be? It was impossible to have one question without the other. They were unerringly entwined. When had he ever been his own person?

He wracked his brain trying to find an answer, a moment, when he had just been himself and no one's pawn or plaything. In his mind, he saw a fleeting glimpse of flashing red hair and piercing green eyes. But even that was inexplicably tied to the feelings of guilt and responsibility he felt now. Those eyes were now connected to a mission where he was a central participant. He lived for one purpose. One woman. He had to fulfill his obligations and keep the dratted boy safe. In remembrance of those eyes. Eyes.

Different eyes stared into his now. World-weary eyes. Their fire was dying. he could see the embers fading out of existence. He knew the feeling well enough. That hopelessness. Living for a cause and nothing more. Those eyes filled with tears once more as she finished her confessional tirade.

"I've given everything I have to this. I don't know how to give anymore. I want us to succeed. We _need_ to succeed. There's no place for me if we don't. I have nowhere to run to now. No home. No family. And that's my fault too I suppose. I gave them up for this as well. I don't know how I'll go back if this fails. I can't try again. I can't read one more bloody word to try to vanquish some megalomaniac and his deranged followers. I can't be- I can't _be_ this person anymore! Don't they understand? I just can't do it! I'm breaking. I feel all these cracks coming through and it just _hurts._ I can' think anymore! I-it's-no more! No!" At this she dissolved into full-fledged sobs. She threw herself onto his conveniently located chest and poured out her every feeling.

He felt a compulsion to make things better for her. Maybe hold her. He fought it initially. Physical contact make him acutely uncomfortable and he was unused to it. But he understood how she felt in this moment. He had spent many an alcohol filled night trying not to feel the pain from all the cracks.

She was the Severus Snape of twenty years ago. Caught up in something so much bigger than herself. So much responsibility on someone so young. Bending under the strain that no one should be put under. So he gave her the comfort that he had never received.

 _And I'll keep it quiet_

 _I'll hold you dear_

 _The whispering fills the ear_

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to himself. He rubbed soothing circles on her back in a way he had only seen others do, never had he done so or experienced it personally. Similarly he tried to utter reassurances that truly came out as nothing more than "Shhhh….I'm here….Shh...You're alright"

She needed to hear these words. Words that no one ever bothered to speak to him. At this thought, his own eyes watered and his ministrations paused.

She quieted and stilled, then lifted her head. Watery eyes peered into each other letting more pain show and sharing the burden in a way that was never done before.

Then suddenly her lips were upon his.

Few times in his life had Severus Snape ever been as shocked as he was in that moment. Seemingly oblivious to his lack of participation, she moved her lips against his own. Her emotional outburst had unraveled him and this surprise was finishing him completely. He pulled her in tighter and completed the kiss, continuing to let her make him lose his mind. _Merlin, this girl._ All at once the thought of what he was doing, and _who_ he was doing it to hit him full force. He jerked his head back from her assault and took a hasty step back.

"Miss Granger. You are in a vulnerable state and I am taking advantage of you. Please do not hold me accountable for what just occurred. I understand that you need comfort right now but I believe your judgment is impaired and you -we- have just made a mistake."

It was the only logical conclusion for what had just happened. They were overwrought and made a foolish gesture. That was why she had just kissed him- why he kissed her in return.

She blinked several times then took a step back.

"MISS GRANGER! Impaired judgment!" she huffed "I knew what I was doing! I wanted to kiss you. I didn't want to STOP kissing you for Merlin's sake! What is wrong with you!"

He gaped at her.

That little stunt had been intentional? Maybe in a loose sense. She wanted to kiss someone; she needed that comfort. He just happened to be the shoulder that she had cried on that was connected to the lips she kissed.

He tried again. "Miss Granger. As I said before, you are in a vulnerable state." She narrowed her eyes at this but he put up his hand. "I will not take advantage of an overwrought child caught in the-"

He was interrupted by her undignified yelp. "CHILD! I am _not_ a child. I haven't been one for a long time. It's not just what I've done or what is expected of me that makes me no longer a child. LOOK at me! Do you see a child?"

Truthfully, this was an undeniably childish outburst. The aggravated panting was, however, accentuating a very "grown-up" chest. Now that he looked, the chest was accompanied by some other womanly curves which he hadn't consciously acknowledged til now.

Dammit! This made things much harder. He looked into her eyes once more.

"Miss Granger, you are not a child. Yet you are still not an adult."

"I'm nineteen!" she interjected.

"That is immaterial in this context. You have been given many responsibilities in this war. Though you have risen to the challenge and faced them admirably, that does not that mean you have "grown up". Growing up means making your own choices and being an individual. You have not yet reached this stage. Your body has...matured." he finished awkwardly, looking away from her.

 _Tell me you'll stay_

 _We would have such fun_

 _And the lie you don't need anyone._

A moment later she stepped closer "May I call you Severus?"

He was blindsided by this non-sequitur. He gazed at her questioningly. She took a breath.

"I'd like this conversation to be between Hermione and Severus, not Professor Snape and Miss Granger. Will you grant my request?" He appraised the situation for a moment before reluctantly nodding. She gave him a small smile.

"Severus. You're right. I'm not an individual yet and I haven't made a multitude of my own choices. There hasn't been much opportunity has there? And there might not be any in the future either."

She took his hand in both of her own and mindlessly ran her fingers over his callouses and scars as she directed the rest of her confessional to his hand.

"I'm well aware that I might not survive all this. Working for the Light is a dangerous business in the best of circumstances and who I am makes it that much more so."

He wasn't sure whether she was referring to her blood status or the fact that she was one of Potter's sidekicks. Either one put her in harm's way and painted a target on her back.

"So I've been thinking about things that I want to know and do before anything happens. I won't say "if" anything happens because it's all pretty inevitable isn't it?"

She glanced at him and half-heartedly smirked.

"One thing I've thought about a lot is you. I wanted you to know how truly extraordinary you are." He would've scoffed if it weren't for the honest admiration pouring from her.

"You are a brave, loyal, and fierce man. You risk everything to protect people who couldn't care less about you at best and wish you dead at worst. I want you to know that I see what you do and I care. I'm desperately in awe of you. You're brilliant too, by the way."

She let go of his hands and ran her hands up his arms up his forearms till she was gripping just below his elbows. He would've stopped her if he wasn't so distracted by her unthinkable words.

"One of the only things I've had to look forward to are our talks. You make me forget everything, Severus. You make it seem like my opinion on the proper stirring method for Pepper-Up is the most important thing in the world. I love that about you."

His eyes widened as she spoke that word "love". It had not been applied to him specifically, but it was probably the closest anyone had ever come to saying such a thing to him. She noticed his reaction.

"Oh no. Is the cat out of the bag?" She whispered half-teasingly while taking another tantalizing step closer.

He furrowed his brow at her in confusion.

"Remarkable man. I would have thought you'd have cottoned on ages ago." She leaned deliberately towards him till her lips were brushing his ear. "I love you." she breathed and leaned back so she was facing him.

She spent an indeterminate amount of time looking into his eyes before she pressed her lips into his for the second time. This time he responded without hesitation. He needed this. Needer her. He wasn't having conscious thoughts anymore. Merlin he'd never heard those words before. Never.

 _And the screams, the wails, and the call_

 _The headiness of the fall_

He'd never been good at letting go. When he closed his eyes, he could always see those faces. Faces he'd disappointed. Physically hurt. Eyes that he had closed forever. Taunts and accusations that he couldn't escape. Atrocities so unforgettable that their remnants were literally burned, etched, and inked into his very skin. He'd taken the strongest potions attempting to force himself to feel what he felt now.

Bliss.

It was effortless. A floating, swirling sensation that ebbed and flowed lazily through his being. The only pressure he could feel was her hands skating along his back edging him closer and closer to oblivion. A beautiful kind of oblivion where regrets couldn't exist. All he could feel was this sweet burning towards her. It was alight in every cell, every fiber of his being.

Things were escalating quickly and he didn't know if he could make them stop. Clothing was dropping to the ground because they had to _feel_ each other dammit! Whole areas of skin were touching and sharing and burning. He had to make sure she knew. He couldn't do this if she wasn't really here with _him_.

He paused for barely a moment with a question in his eyes. She looked at him with the most dazzling and reassuring smile he'd ever beheld, and then proceeded to turn that sweet burning into an all-encompassing inferno.

It had never been like this before. Experiences of this variety had always been pleasant, but not earth-shattering as it was now. It wasn't slow and tender with feather light touches, but neither was it furious and primal with brutal taking of desire.

It _was_ desperate, and undeniably hasty, with a make-shift transfigured bed and rain still falling in sheets around their tiny fortress.

But it was pure. And right. They gave and they took and they felt each others pain and they fought it together. He wanted this to be forever. Even as he felt it ending, he stared into her eyes and he saw the person _she_ knew he could be, if just for a moment.

And it undid them both.

Their passion peaked and they both let go of everything that was and wasn't and could never be.

As he slowly returned to himself, he saw her exultant face and it soothed the pieces of his shattered soul. He pulled her closer and stared into those honestly loving orbs and tried to hold onto every good thing he had.

She drifted off to sleep while he looked on, memorizing her features.

When her eyes finally closed and her breath evened, he took in the scene around them. The rain poured on. Darkness was slowly falling over the landscape. The only noticeable things in their minute hideaway were their pieces of clothing haphazardly lying throughout the vicinity. He extracted himself from her arms to at least fold them so they wouldn't look completely bedraggled on the return trip tomorrow.

It was while he was placing his coat on the pile of fabric that he saw the corner of the picture. His picture. The one that he always took with him no matter what the situation. It didn't matter if the Dark Lord found it because he wouldn't understand the significance. Who would understand why Severus Snape carried a picture of a dead woman in his coat pocket?

He didn't understand it himself really. He had spent years gazing at this picture, futilely wishing for atonement for the tragedies of his past. This picture symbolized everything he had to make up for. Nothing about it made him feel anything peaceful or uplifting. Not in the least bit.

He carried it with him back to the bed and attempted to compare the feelings he had when he looked at the tattered photograph, and then when he looked at this remarkable woman beside him. They didn't even belong in the same dimension. One was a shimmer like a crumpled piece of tinsel, and the other was as bright as full sun on a winter's day, highlighting every snowflake and bit of frost, spreading light over the barren landscape to make everything beautiful, no matter what its original condition.

He lied down on the bed once more and pulled this gorgeous light towards himself, picture still in hand. It was different now. This woman was different. Important. She deserved a chance. He would do everything he could to make a world for her, to protect her, to treat her love for him with as much respect as her precious gift deserved. He closed his eyes and drifted off, his mind on her three words that he would never forget. No matter what.

 _Ten thousand miles from where we began_

 _I fell asleep with a picture in my hand_

 _It was all for a woman_

That is where it all went terribly wrong. He cursed himself every day for not putting that picture away. He saw in her eyes the next morning that she had seen the picture and misunderstood.

She thought he had used her. Tried to fulfill a fantasy through her while taking advantage of her "misguided" feelings. He didn't know how to tell her she was wrong. He had never explained his feelings to anyone before. Her eyes were full of unmasked hurt that _he_ caused. Bloody hell.

She dressed quietly while he did away with the tent. They made their way back into the forest and continued the previously futile search.

And they found it.

As it happened, the plant could only be found when wet, which was why the book had said to look for it in early morning when dew would still be present. They quickly gathered what they needed and port-keyed back to her hideout. Her pathetic comrades were, of course, elated to see her.

Even absorbed in their hugs and joyful faces, he could see her underlying sadness. He had to leave. He couldn't look at her disappointed face any longer.

And leave he did. He brewed the potion and everything went according to plan. Well, as much as it could. He nearly had a heart attack when he heard they had been taken to Malfoy Manor. They were able to make it out, but he still knew he had failed her. He couldn't even keep her safe.

That was what he thought about as he was lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He gave away his memories to Potter so he would know the final step of the plan. He acknowledged those eyes. He had fulfilled his life's purpose. The boy would survive.

That was not what concerned him in those "final" moments. He was caught up in a different set of eyes. So full of pain. It was clear that she still loved him. He was sorry to cause her more pain. He couldn't even die without hurting someone. Damn. He regretted not explaining himself that day. He looked boldly at her as his blood pooled around him and slowly let the life leave his body.

But that was not the end. Oh no. He was foolish to think she would let it end that way. The girl pulled out her endless bag and gave him the anti-venom and Blood Replenisher he desperately needed. She healed him. Then she left him. One last lingering, heart-wrenching look and she was gone.

He didn't see her again till tonight. Seeing her among the group of dunderheads made his blood boil. He should be sitting with her. He should be enjoying this night in the arms of someone who loved him. But he wasn't. And it was his own fault.

He stood in the shadows and tried not to look at her. He was sure no had noticed that he was even there. But of course Bloody Potter had. The boy found him and began pestering him with questions about his health, his recovery, the boy's mother. At the mention of that woman he gave the boy a look that had led many a man to a hasty retreat.

Not so for Potter. He let the subject drop, but did not leave. After several moments the boy finally spoke. It seemed he was concerned for his friend. Said she hadn't been the same in the last few weeks. Wondered if it might be a side effect of the Cruciatus. Wanted to know if there was a way to help her.

Poor boy. No it wasn't a side effect.

He could only imagine how she felt. Of course it wouldn't be enough that she have a vague and ever-changing idea of the identity of the woman in the picture. Now she knew. Lily Evans Potter. Martyr for the cause. Perfection incarnate. Not that he thought about her in that light anymore. No, he had finally pulled his head above those delusion filled waters and saw the truth.

Lily would forever be beautiful in his memories. But she was also gone. Long gone. He had spent 20 years of his life staring at a picture of a girl who never even loved him. It was shameful, truly. But he couldn't get those thoughts to Hermione. How he wished he could project those thoughts to her through Legillimency. But, alas, unbidden mind intrusion was not the way to a woman's heart. Bugger it all.

He muttered something to Potter about post-traumatic stress. He was careful not to give any specifics. General ideas about changing of seasons and reviewing priorities. On the extremely small chance that Potter relayed this information back to her, he didn't want to risk anything being misconstrued and her gaining even more false ideas about his intentions. Merlin! This is why he avoided human interaction altogether.


End file.
